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The day I threw The Darkest Blue Plate in the bin…

Posted on: December 14, 2011

Every morning, the kids have weet-bix for breakfast. We have many suitable vessels in which to serve said weet-bix. However, one such vessel has been deemed the champion of all weet-bix-serving vessels, the world over. You see, this particular vessel does not merely serve weet-bix. It also has the power to transform the weet-bix-eater’s entire life from one of abject misery to one of good fortune and eternal happiness. Such is the glory of:

The Darkest Blue Plate.

As you can imagine, demand for the Darkest Blue Plate is high. So high that we have developed a roster system for its use. On alternate days, Tiernan and Molly have their turn at being ‘The Holder of The Darkest Blue Plate’. The unfortunate person whose turn it is not, must make do with the lesser vessel, The Lightest Blue Plate. That person is sure to have a terrible day. Bad things will probably happen to them. In fact, they will be lucky if they live to see their next turn with The Darkest Blue Plate. Neave, who has not yet learned to see beyond the weet-bix that clouds her higher senses, eats from The Green Plate every morning.

Our roster system has one flaw. It exists only in my head. It is my job to remember, from day to day, who gets to eat their weet-bix from The Darkest Blue Plate. Most mornings, I get it right. However, on the one or two days each week when I am not the assigned Breakfast Manager, the roster system goes out the window and chaos reigns.

There is only one rule for the Breakfast Manager: Get the roster wrong at your peril.

You may be wondering what happened on the day I threw The Darkest Blue Plate in the bin? If The Darkest Blue Plate is afforded such high status in our house (indeed, the world), then how could it have ended up in the bin? What could have gone so terribly, terribly wrong?

Well, I’ll tell you. A riot broke out.

I was back on duty as Breakfast Manager for the first time in days, and I had not a clue whose turn it was to be ‘The Holder of The Darkest Blue Plate.’ Instead of asking my husband, who was at work, I hazarded a guess. I gave Tiernan The Darkest Blue Plate, and Molly the lowly Lightest Blue Plate. The plate of plebs. I stood tensely by the breakfast table, waiting for signs of discontent, ready to switch plates, with lightning speed, if necessary. When no protests were forthcoming, I sighed with relief and walked away. But something was wrong. I could hear happy weet-bix-munching from one end of the table, but not the other. I slowly turned around, dreading what I would find.

It wasn’t pretty. Molly was, indeed, not eating. She was watching in horror as Tiernan took her turn to eat from The Darkest Blue Plate. Tiernan, who was already receiving The Darkest Blue Plate’s mood-enhancing benefits, was smiling beatifically as he ate, fully absorbed in the task. He had no idea anything was amiss. Meanwhile, Molly, whose ire was growing in direct correlation to Tiernan’s happiness, finally could stand it no longer. She launched into a devastating missile attack. The missiles (spoons, bowls, whatever she could get her hands on), were accompanied by ear-splitting shrieks. It was the shrieking that did the most damage. It was the shrieking that forced me to take desperate action, lest we all be rendered deaf by the power of Molly’s wrath. I seized The Darkest Blue Plate, and I threw it in the bin.

The effect was immediate. Stunned silence. Shocked faces.

Then angry tears and accusatory glares. Followed by tantrums when I refused to retrieve The Darkest Blue Plate from its binny grave.

I gathered up my children, and sat them down with me on the couch as I soothed their tears.

“The Darkest Blue Plate is no more.” I told them. “From this day forth, your weet-bix will still taste like weet-bix. But the eating will be tainted by bitter memories of what was, and what could have been. Rest in peace, Darkest Blue Plate.”

Okay, so I didn’t really say that. What I said was “The Darkest Blue Plate is gone. Get over it.” It took some time, but they did.

Were my actions justified? I don’t know. But I have hope that our household will be a happier one now that The Darkest Blue Plate is gone.

At least until Santa brings us TWO new Darkest Blue Plates for Christmas.

1 Response to "The day I threw The Darkest Blue Plate in the bin…"

When people told me that being a parent would change my priorities, I had no idea that they meant things like this. For my kids, it’s usually lovies. What makes the giraffe lovey better than the bear lovey, I will never know, but gods help me if I give a child the wrong lovey, or if the giraffe lovey is missing.

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